


Greater Heights

by BoxOnTheNile



Series: Storm [3]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Incubus Kepler, Marcus is after bigger and better and nothing like death is going to stop him, Multi, Vampire Cutter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 08:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: Cutter can almost feel the wheel of forward progress turning faster. He’s no closer to the answers he wants, but he has time now. That human franticness is gone. He can be patient. He can wait to see if anyone else can see what he can.





	Greater Heights

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't gonna write this. I wasn't. I was gonna leave this whole damn background concept out of this and have Cutter's motivations be a mystery! But I was writing a thing about it from Jacobi's pov(that is definitely not posting bc it's self indulgent bullshit, and also a crossover with with my partner's version of a magic au), stopped mid sentence, and went "fuck dammit FINE"
> 
> I wrote all of this in about 24 hours, because I spent four hours on a plane yesterday, it took on a mind of it's own, and I had to keep referencing back to other things I'd written.
> 
> Title from Meteorites by Lights, which I highly recommend listening to and thinking about Season One Minkowski.

In 1965, William Carter finds a demon in Chicago. He'd been looking for one long enough he was starting to think they weren't actually real.

That will teach him to doubt Miranda.

He rolls his shoulders back, puts on a winning smile, and buys the demon a drink. _Balvanie_. The demon has good taste.

It's _bold_, what he's doing. This isn't one of the discreet, back alley bars where men can buy each other drinks without fear. But the demon meets his eyes across the room, smiles slow and seductive and _impressed_, and lifts the glass in a toast.

The demon kisses _sinfully_ well, Carter learns in the elevator to his room twenty minutes later. Their—his? Carter isn't sure demons really have gender—Thrall slides off him like water off glass. Thralls have never taken Carter. It's one of the reasons he has so many ambitions.

The demon releases Carter's hips long enough for him to get the hotel room's door open. They kick it shut behind them, following Carter across the horribly ostentatious rug, and stop dead in the middle.

"Ah," they say, "that's annoying. Devil's trap under the rug?"

"Of course," Carter tells them. "I'm not going to give a demon free run of my _bedroom_. That's indecent." He wanders farther into the room. "Wine?"

"You'd have to pass it to me."

"Mm, best not, then." Carter pours a glass, sits where the demon can see him. "I have some questions."

The demon tilts their head, barely, and narrows their eyes. "Not the typical Hunter, are you?"

"Oh, _no,_" Carter giggles. "I'm not a _Hunter_. I'm an… entrepreneur, let's say. Oo, before we continue, how do you…" he pauses, trying to remember the right way to ask this. Miranda said it was only _humans_ that found it rude. "How do you identify? Male, female, something else?"

"Male is fine." They—He shifts his weight subtly, leans forward just barely. Carter has his _interest_. "What kind of _questions_ would a businessman have for an Incubus that he has to trap him?"

"How do I become a demon?"

The Incubus in the trap lifts an eyebrow, a perfect picture of incredulity. "Why?"

Carter supposes it's only fair he answers. "I have lofty ambitions, and I need more than a handful of decades to get there." They landed on the Moon last year, and Carter believed they could go _farther_. He knew that the beings of Earth could be _more._

He knew _he_ could be more. There was a reason that he could see what no one else could.

"I want _better_," Carter says. "The integration of magic and technology. A better understanding of the cycles of magic and how the progress of humanity changes them." He wants to know how the Fae _did it_, but he knows better than to ask that aloud by this point. "I want _progress_."

The demon's face is unreadable. "You die," he says, after a moment. "You die, and Hell warps you."

That is _not_ the answer Carter had hoped for. He doesn't have _time_ for that, he has _plans_. He's trying to _dodge _death, and he doesn't have much more time to do it. "Shit."

"But," the demon continues, "there's other ways to get what you want."

"I _considered_ that," Carter says, irritated. "Vampirism is an option, but there's a period of servitude I don't have _time_ for."

"Not if something kills your sire," the demon says. "I want to see what you can do. I want to help you get there."

Carter can see it in his eyes: that spark of ambition and wonder. That same drive for _better_. The dissatisfaction with the current _stagnation_ of magic when it could be brought to new and incredible heights.

"What's your name?" Carter asks, and he's a little breathless with anticipation.

"Warren Kepler."

"Is that your real name?"

Warren smiles, that smug sensuous thing from the bar. "No. What's yours?"

"William Carter."

"Is that your real name?"

"No." Carter stands and flips up the edge of the rug, overturning his wine glass onto the precise lines beneath. The Incubus steps closer, traces the line of his jaw. Carter isn't afraid.

"You are," he breathes, "the most _interesting_ human I've ever met. Did my Thrall even _touch_ you?"

"No," Carter smirks. "Which is why I'm not concerned about this." He threads his fingers into Warren's dark hair and kisses him. Warren responds with enthusiasm and lets Carter drag him down on the bed.

* * *

Miranda can't glare at Carter with the scarf tied over her eyes, but the rest of her face is disgusted. "He suggested _what_?"

"Vampirism," Carter repeats patiently. He _does_ appreciate that Miranda can't see the bruises scattered over his throat. She's not _interested_ in sleeping with him, and he respects that, but he's a man with _wants_. "He has a work around. Vampire fangs can't pierce his skin, there's little risk."

"There's a _lot_ of risk," she snaps.

"There's _reasonable_ risk that I'm willing to take," Carter amends. He _loves_ her, he does, but he wishes she would _trust_ him a little more. 

"And this has nothing to do with the fact you smell like sex and sulphur?"

"Do I smell like sulphur?" he asks, and pulls the collar of his shirt up to smell it. 

"It's your aura," she says. "He left a trace of himself behind. It's a _Claim_, William."

"Oh." He blinks a few times. "I don't know if I'm angry or aroused by that."

"Good _gods_, William!"

"Miranda," he says. "Please. I _do_ know the risks, and the only reason I threw out the idea before was the _submission_. Warren can remove that problem."

She sighs. "It would have to be soon. The rate of survival from the Turn plummets after forty-five."

"We have plenty of time," Carter says. "And soon we'll have _even longer_. Think of what we'll _do_ together."

Her hand touches her scarf. "I want to see," she says gently. "Promise me we'll find a way to make me see without destroying everything."

"I promise," Carter says, and he means it. He wants her to see the beautiful things they make. He wants her to love herself as much as he loves her. Whatever it takes. Whatever they have to burn and rebuild.

"Alright," she tells him. "I'll use what pull we have to acquire a blood bank. We can't have you leaving a trail of bodies and attracting attention."

He smiles at her, soft and adoring, and lifts her hand to his face so she can feel it. She smiles back at him. "This is why we're partners," he says, and presses his lips to her palm. 

* * *

He sheds the name "William Carter" like a coat and takes on something new. "Marcus Cutter" takes over the company Carter began and brings it higher than anyone thought possible. He backs the Fae Rights movement, pressures legislature into non-discrimination laws for Inhumans and humans alike. Goddard Futuristics becomes a leader in technology and innovation.

He wants _more_. He wants _better_. 

He wants answers to questions no one else will ask.

He begins collecting people like Miranda, like Warren. Who want better, who will push the wheel of progress forward fearlessly. 

A woman in San Francisco catches his eye for her work in orbital ballistics. Just as he decides to send Kepler after her, one of her missiles misfires and kills everyone in the project.

Four months later, a man surfaces with the exact same credentials, and that is just _fascinating_. 

In a matter of days after the hire of one Daniel Jacobi, two things are clear: he is disappointingly human, and Warren _wants._

The Incubus’s Claim on Cutter is long removed, after some cheerful threatening and a _tiny _bit of consecrated silver to make his point. Cutter can _smell_ the possessive longing for Daniel, and the thrill of his new sense for auras still surprises him sometimes. How did humans survive without it? 

He doesn’t blame Warren. Daniel has a sense of life about him, and it’s mouthwatering. 

Alana Maxwell, too, is interesting. She didn’t exist until a few years ago, not that you would know looking at her records. Cutter only takes notice at all because Miranda does. She’s an upcoming name in AI Theory, and her doctorate thesis is about the innate personhood of self-aware AI. It’s only when Miranda actually meets her that they see the truth.

Alana is a homunculus. She’s essentially the magical version of an AI. Her doctorate proves her own personhood as well.

Cutter hires her on the spot and passes her off to Kepler. Daniel is taken with her instantly, like she’s a piece of him he’d been missing, and the three become the most effective Intelligence team that Special Projects has.

Cutter can almost feel the wheel of forward progress turning faster. He’s no closer to the answers he wants, but he has time now. That human franticness is gone. He can be patient. He can wait to see if anyone else can see what he can.

He doesn’t have to wait long. He’s not meant to overhear the conversation, a playful thing between his three favorite Intelligence agents about conspiracy theories.

“No, c’mon, Major,” Alana is pressing. “Weirdest conspiracy you wholeheartedly believe.”

“A demon is behind the M25 in London,” he says.

“I would believe that,” Daniel mutters furiously. “But wouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

“That’s why I believe it.”

“That’s cheating,” Alana protests. “Alright, Dan, your turn.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Bullshit! Please, Dan?”

“Alright, alright,” he says. Cutter has reached the door, has his hand on the knob when Daniel says, “I think the Fae Courts are planning something.”

And Cutter stops.

Waits.

“The Fae are hardly worthy of your attention, Jacobi,” Warren says sharply, and Cutter opens the door.

“Warren,” he nearly sings, cheerful as ever. “I’ve been looking for you, I have something I want you to look into.” He throws a sideways glance at Daniel, who is poorly hiding a completely _devastated_ expression. 

Cutter knows that look. He’s felt it himself, once, when Miranda shot him down for the _exact same belief._

He did not think anyone else had escaped the Courts’ sweeping Suggestion that the power they were consolidating was not important.

Wasn’t this _exciting_?

* * *

Cutter watches Daniel shift uncomfortably in the seat across from him for a very long time. He never stops smiling, chin resting on his interlaced fingers. Daniel’s heart is pounding, and Cutter finally understands the feeling of life that followed him. 

“I have to say,” he says, at long last, “out of all the possibilities, I wasn’t expecting this one.”

“Sir?” the _Phoenix_ asks him.

"Congratulations, Daniel, you've done something that not many can!" Cutter tilts his head. "You've surprised me. I'd suspected you'd stolen Paula Feynman's identity, but… you are her, aren't you?"

Daniel shifts his weight again. “Was,” he corrects, voice steady. 

Disappointment floods him, and his smile falters. His Turn was only ever supposed to be a stopgap, a step on the way to something bigger. What Daniel has is closer to want he wants, but he can’t risk his priorities changing with the rest of his identity. “Was, of course. Must be confusing, changing names all the time. Unless?” He’ll be even more disappointed if this works.

“Daniel is fine, sir.” His voice is so measured, but his heart is hummingbird-fast. 

"Daniel it remains, then. Let Warren know we will be updating SI-5 assignments in lieu of this… development. There's a few more risks I'm willing to take now that I know you're less fragile than I'd believed."

“Mr. Cutter, sir… isn’t this a reprimand?”

“Oh, don’t be absurd,” Cutter laughs. He’s absolutely delighted by this fidgety bird before him. Not many people will face this kind of fear just for answers. “What was it you said? We never asked? Next time, I’ll be sure to ask.” 

He stands, and Cutter is impressed that his knees aren’t shaking. “Oh, Daniel?”

His heartbeat spikes. “Sir.”

“The job of Special Projects is to pursue answers, even when it’s... _Suggested_ that we don’t.” 

“I’m not certain what you’re talking about, sir,” Daniel tells him, but for the first time, his voice trembles. He takes his leave, and Cutter stares at the door for long after he's gone. 

He wonders if Daniel has more of the puzzle pieces than he does. He wonders how long an immortal firebird could have waited for someone else to see the puzzle at all.

Finally, someone he can _work with_.

* * *

_When he is young, the Fae reveal themselves. He grows up alongside them, the faeries and Shifters and dryads. And begins to wonder why they're all **Fae**. _

_"We're not all faeries," a Shifter tells him once, when he asks. "But we're all ruled by them."_

_"Why?" He asks that a lot. He always wants answers._

_"It's how it's always been," the Shifter says, but that… doesn't sit right._

_"Then shouldn't you be faeries?"_

_The Shifter's whole demeanor changes from patience to irritation. "Why are you asking so many pointless questions?" _

_He always gets that response, or something more **violent**. It's the first question he asks that has no answer. He will ask many more, but he cycles back to that one often. _

_He starts researching, and there's history that doesn't match, references to groups that no one remembers, and information that just seems **gone**. _

_The final conclusion is this: the Fae Courts placed a worldwide Suggestion that they were not worth noticing, and that parts of history were wrong, and he is the only one that isn't taken by it._

_And he needs to know why. He needs to when, and how._

_He needs to know **everything**, no matter the cost._

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpt from that Jacobi pov thing:  
_It's an impressive piece of work, the Fae's sweeping Suggestion. He hasn't figured out how they did it, yet, but it's hit every human and Inhuman on the planet for centuries... No one wants their worldview shaken, and it's easy to twist that into irritation, then to anger, then to **violence**. He's been killed over this before._
> 
> Okay I'm gonna go finish the last chapter of Page of Wands.


End file.
